


These Chains of Mine

by Zaxal



Category: Psych
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-30
Updated: 2012-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-13 04:13:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaxal/pseuds/Zaxal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old flame of Carlton's returns and rekindles their relationship, but Shawn is suspicious of him and the changes he seems to be causing in Lassiter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Focuses on a seriously unhealthy, emotionally manipulative/abusive D/S relationship between Lassie and an OMC. There is a scene that can be, at best, read at really sketchy dubcon hence the archive warning.
> 
> Also this is post-Season 3, so spoilers for a few of those episodes.

_Office get-togethers weren't his thing. The older cops spent their time reliving their glory days; crimes and arrests all told through the lens of people no longer bothered by what had happened. Old mistakes faded in time, could be looked at with acceptance or maybe even humor. The younger ones were, thankfully, not as focused on work, but they talked about childhoods, crazy adventures, and loves that had come and gone or, perhaps, dared to stay._

_Carlton hadn't had much of any of those, so he was often an outsider, listing aimlessly on the fringes, listening without interest while waiting for it to be over so he could go home._

_One day, however, he had been treated to the surprisingly delightful company of a guest. She was a friend of somebody, just as out of place and awkward as he was, and after the initial small talk, they found a mutual interest. Victoria knew a lot about history, talked to him for hours about various civilizations, genuine interest sparking in her eyes._

_He made a date to see her again, all the while feeling guilt twist in his gut, telling him he should back away now. But when he looked up into the crowd of his peers, he met a knowing gaze, and he relaxed with a small smile._

_"She asked me out," he admitted later, elated and yet so worried that he almost felt sick._

_"You should go." Carlton turned wide eyes to his friend who only smiled at him. "She'd be good for you, I think." Hands touched him familiarly, pulled him close. Lips touched his neck, and Carlton tilted his head back, exposed himself for the taking._

_"You have my permission," he said with a teasing nip to Carlton's exposed throat. "Have a good time. Do whatever you want. But, Carlton, don't forget me."_

_"I don't think I could if I tried, Jace."_

\-----

They had been working on a case tirelessly for a week, waiting for the killer to make a mistake, staying up until late hours waiting for the next strike and hoping – praying – that it might end without anymore bloodshed. The tension building up between the four of them verged on unbearable. Lassiter had been at his throat from the beginning – no surprise there, business as usual. But Juliet and Gus's good natures started wearing thin, and then Shawn felt his smiles get strained. 

The case stopped being fun around day four. By the end of day five, Shawn was feeling angry and desperate. Stuck in a way that had him itching to pack up his life and move on. He desperately hoped that feeling would fade once they had their killer in cuffs and put away. An hour after they'd managed after an all-nighter, with Lassiter and Juliet finishing up the paperwork while Shawn and Gus distracted them with donuts, coffee, and jokes, Shawn felt like things were definitely starting to get back to normal.

Better than normal, really, with the way Juliet was giggling and the way Lassiter smiled without looking sarcastic or smug. The way Gus was too tired to push Shawn off when he started to lean into his best friend, too tired to keep himself upright. Their laughter greeted the officers coming in to start their daytime shifts, all of whom had to be relieved that the dark storm cloud the four of them had been brewing for the last week seemed to have been pushed away by pure sunshine.

The Chief was the first one to approach, looking mildly amused by the four of them and their sleep-deprived mirth. "I take it you completed your case."

"Finishing up the paperwork for the arrest now," Lassiter did a small salute with his pencil, his continuing good mood making Shawn's grin widen. Happy looked good on Lassiter, he had to admit. Especially compared to the snarling beast that he had been fighting against for the last week.

Not that it didn't have potential to look good on him as well, but that was something to think about later when he was alone and had time to enjoy it.

"That's great," Chief Vick said, her smile just as big as the four of theirs. She had been pushing them to figure it out and get the arrest done quickly. It had to be a load off her shoulders knowing that there wouldn't be any more deaths caused by the woman down in the booking cells. "I'm glad you're in such high spirits. I have something I need to tell you, Carlton."

Lassiter's smile wavered, and his eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion. "What is it?"

"Det. Slane is coming back."

Shawn immediately ran through the database in his head of SBPD officers and frowned slightly when it came back with nothing. Which meant it was someone who had started working when he'd been out of Santa Barbara. Which meant he knew nothing about them, and all he could do was trust Lassiter's reaction to get a gauge of his own.

Only Lassiter didn't look like Lassiter anymore. His eyes had widened a little, lit up along with his smile. "Did he say why? Or when?"

"Who's Det. Slane?" Juliet cut in, smiling as happily as she was before, focused on Lassiter's expression which had to be as unfamiliar to her as it was to Shawn. Gus nodded in agreement, looking between Lassiter and Vick for an answer.

Vick, however, was smiling knowingly at Lassiter. "He said things in Vegas weren't what he thought they'd be. Said he wanted to come home, and we have an open spot on the gang unit thanks to Drimmer's dismissal and incarceration. He filed for transferal, and everything seems to be in order. He's due back today." Her smile faded as she gave all of them a stern look. "If you're too tired from last night, I suggest going home and getting a few hours of sleep. We'll call you if we need you, and there's nothing sitting on your desks, detectives, that can't wait until noon."

Shawn expected a fight from at least Lassiter, but even he was nodding, still smiling away like he wasn't agreeing to time off for the first time since Shawn had met him. "Will do, Chief," Gus said, and Juliet echoed him.

"Who's Det. Slane, Carlton?" Juliet asked the moment Vick disappeared into her office.

"Det. Jason Slane is an old friend of mine," Lassiter sounded a bit irritated now about being bothered, but it was mostly drowned out by his good mood. "He's a good man and a good cop." There was something else about his smile, though, that Shawn hadn't ever seen before. Genuine happiness? Surely not, but that was all Shawn could think of. "We're lucky we're getting him back."

Shawn desperately wanted to stay, wanted to meet the person who could put that look on Lassiter's face, but Gus began pushing him, saying, "Shawn, we should get going."

"You won't be missing anything," Juliet agreed. "Soon as we finish up here, we're going to head out for a few hours too." She looked at Lassiter sternly, "Right?"

"You're not my mother," he grumbled, and Juliet began to glare. He rolled his eyes, "Yes, fine. But only for food and a change of clothes."

"And a nap," she pressured him, unrelenting.

They continued bickering as Gus dragged Shawn away. "Bed, Shawn."

"Aw, Gus. I didn't know you wanted a snuggle buddy."

"No," Gus said, still continuing his march towards the parking lot. "But I want to go to bed – by myself, by the way – and I know you're too tired to keep yourself from annoying Lassiter and too tired to drive your motorcycle."

"Could catch a few Zs in the break room," Shawn shrugged, half of him wanting to stay to meet Slane and the other half knowing that Gus was right. He was too tired to do anything but be in the way at this point.

"Or you could come back to my place where I have last night's _American Duos_ TiVoed and pineapple already sliced up and waiting for you in the fridge."

"You make a convincing argument," Shawn said, eagerly getting into the passenger seat of the Blueberry instead of continuing to fight Gus's determined dragging. After all, there wasn't any harm in letting things get settled around the station before he came back to stir them up again.

\-----

There were several extremely terrible things about Jason Slane that Shawn noticed right off the bat. 

One, he was ridiculously good looking. He was an inch or so shorter than Lassiter with fair skin marred only by the start of laugh lines and the occasional distracting freckle. His hair was a dark red, the occasional gray strand winding around his temples that made him only look distinguished and not old. His eyes reminded Shawn of his own – hazel, shifting between blue, green, and brown depending on the light.

Two, he was not only aware of how attractive he was, but he was completely comfortable in a place that had been shutting Shawn out for so long. Not the station, of course; Shawn had been embraced almost as soon as he'd started. No – Slane leaned against Lassiter's desk, utterly at ease, occasionally turning his head to say something directly to Lassiter with a smile and a laugh without once looking like he might be unwelcome.

Which brought Shawn to three: Lassiter had never looked so happy. Shawn found himself staring from a distance at his smile and his body language that said comfort and ease while at work which wasn't something Lassiter ever allowed himself to be. The two of them were surrounded by officers, listening to Slane tell some story about when they were rookies, and that should have had Lassiter pushing him away, barking at them all to get back to work. The tips of his ears were turning red, but his smile was unmistakeable in spite of his attempt to lower his head, eyes focused on his desk.

Juliet grabbed his arm, "You have to come meet him, Shawn. You'll love him." Shawn wasn't so sure, but he let himself be led over to the crowd. Storytime appeared to be over as most of the other officers quickly dispersed back to work, leaving the four of them alone. "Jason? This is Shawn Spencer. Shawn, this is Det. Jason Slane."

Lassiter looked up, looked directly at him, his expression shifting towards unease and unhappiness, and Shawn fought the urge to frown right back at him. Instead, he held out his hand, smiling up at Slane when he took it and gave it a firm shake. "I've heard a lot about you in the last day or so. The psychic, right?"

"Don't let Lassie here lie to you. I'm very loveable, and I have yet to give anyone rabies that we're aware of."

Slane let go of his hand, leaning back on the desk that Shawn had been shoved off of so many times he couldn't keep count anymore. "Lassie?" He turned an amused look towards Lassiter. "You told them?"

"What?" Lassiter frowned, shook his head quickly. "No."

Shawn couldn't resist. Lassiter keeping secrets from him was like hiding cocaine from a drug-sniffing dog. It might take him a few passes, but once he got a whiff, he started digging and barking until he found what he was after. Metaphorically, of course. "Keeping secrets from us?"

"It's what a few of the older cops used to call him when he was a rookie. I thought he hated it."

"I _do_ ," Lassiter insisted. "It's just not worth fighting him over."

Shawn fought not to frown at that. He was standing right _there_ , and Lassiter was talking about him like he wasn't. It stung. "I think it's grown on you," Slane insisted, and Lassiter only shrugged before pulling his keyboard back over to him. No doubt intending to look busy. "It's been nice meeting you, Mr. Spencer-"

"Shawn," he corrected automatically with a smile, feeling his initial misgivings and paranoia give way to the fact that Slane looked like he might be a bit of fun. Not to mention a source of Lassiter history he could learn from if he poked and pried just right.

Slane's smile grew, "Shawn. But I have some work I need to get started on. Looks like my predecessor left me with a mess to deal with."

"Yeah, he did. Could've been worse, though." Slane raised an eyebrow, obviously wanting a quick summary before he went on his way. Shawn decided to do his good deed for the day by telling the truth in a slightly slanted way that favored Lassiter, "Drimmer tried to kill me and Lassie. I'd be dead if not for him and his impressive shooting the bad guy skills."

Slane looked alarmed almost immediately, looking back at Lassiter with a frown. Lassiter, however, was looking at Shawn. "You did your fair share, Spencer."

Shawn leaned forward slightly, fluttering his eyelashes, "That's so sweet of you to say." Juliet and Slane both laughed.

"Yes, how very sweet, Carlton." He pushed himself up. "I really need to get going. Det. O'Hara, keep him out of trouble for me, will you?" Slane swept by them with a grin and headed off to his partners on the far side of the bullpen.

"Like I need babysitting," Lassiter muttered unhappily, but he was still undeniably in a good mood. Shawn plopped down on one of the chairs he and Gus had left there yesterday, observing Lassiter keenly. "There something you need from me?"

"Work, as usual."

"You know better than to ask me for cases by now."

Shawn shrugged, "Then I'll go get one from somewhere else in a minute."

"How about now?" Lassiter glanced up at him, trying to seem annoyed and failing.

Shawn almost wished he'd managed it. "Curious about the two of you." He glanced over to see Juliet back at her desk. Realizing they were alone, he allowed himself to speak freely. "Seems like you get along really well."

"I'm allowed to have friends, Spencer."

"Never said you weren't. But you don't. Not most of the time. You two used to be partners?"

Lassiter went back to his work. "No. We had senior partners. The two of us would've been juniors at the same time."

Shawn rolled his eyes, sighed, "Read between the lines a little, Lassie."

Lassiter didn't bother looking up. "In that case. I can't really see how that's any of your business."

"There are all of these crazy vibes dancing around everywhere. Very distracting. I can see you both now, running through a field of wildflowers towards each other's open embrace." He put his fingers to his temple. "I'm trying to figure out what the background music is. Nothing traditionally cheesy. Much more manly, but still on the classy side. Help me out here."

"Spencer, either find someone to throw you a bone or get out of my hair." He looked up again, still peaceful in a way Shawn couldn't help but frown at. He should have Lassiter frothing at the mouth by now, demanding or manhandling or... well, at the very least getting frustrated. This wasn't right.

He went for the obvious, not even caring that it was so transparent even Lassiter could see through it. "He could throw me a bone any day of the week. I mean. Woof."

Lassiter's expression finally firmed up, steely and flinty and so much fire to be had if the two rubbed each other wrong. There he was – the Lassiter that made Shawn feel tingly and excited in a way he hadn't figured out how to define yet. Shawn waited for the explosion, feeling like he'd forgotten how to breathe, but Lassiter's eyes slid sideways just enough for Shawn to know exactly who he was looking at as he relaxed, the tension slipping easily off of him. "Where's Guster?"

"Doing his rounds for his other job," Shawn said with a frown. Lassiter not reacting to him made him only want to push harder until Lassiter reacted the way he was supposed to.

"Go bother him or Henry. It's their job to keep you entertained. Not mine."

"It's not in their contracts either."

"They signed up for it. I didn't. Go."

Shawn could have argued. It was tempting to keep bothering him, but with Slane not far off, Lassiter seemed better able to keep his cool. Shawn wasn't particularly hurt by what Lassiter said – he knew he didn't want him around, had known since they'd started working together. But it stung to be able to be so suddenly ignored. Especially when he thought he'd had everything about Lassiter figured out, when Shawn thought he knew how to get his attention.

So, instead, he left, headed towards the office to busy himself with something other than Lassiter for at least an hour before caving in and going to his Dad's to ask all about Jason Slane.


	2. Chapter 2

"Jace?" He knew he was interrupting, but he hadn't gotten a chance to talk to Jason alone since he'd gotten back. He'd been in town for at least three days, and Carlton had been too busy...

No. Work came first. Jason would understand. Jason had always understood that. "Carlton," he smiled, up from the gang unit huddle where they'd been filling him in about the various ongoing operations he needed to know. The full crash course would take several days in between actual work. "Give me a moment. We're almost done here."

Carlton hated waiting generally. He'd prefer to get things done as quickly and efficiently as possible, but Jason had always been capable of asking him for more than anyone else. Even Victoria. "Lunch?" he asked soon as the huddle broke.

"Of course."

\-----

They'd barely gotten settled at the small diner before Jason was leaning forward, those hypnotizing eyes drawing Carlton in the way they always had. "I've missed so much, haven't I?"

Carlton shrugged, honestly saying, "You've missed some changes, but nothing much."

"I wouldn't say that. A divorce is a big deal, Carlton." Carlton looked down guiltily at the white band of pale skin around his ring finger. It had been less than a month since he'd met up with Victoria, signed those papers, signed off his marriage as a failure. "What happened?"

"Do we have to talk about it?"

"I think so." Carlton glanced up at him, not surprised to find that same calm, soothing smile he always had. Jason always had an air of confidence and ease that said the world was at his fingertips. All he had to do was snap to have everything he wanted delivered to him on a silver platter. "When I left, I told you to take care of each other."

"You did," Carlton agreed, running his thumb over the missing ring self-consciously. "Said it at my bachelor party too."

"So," Jason sighed, sounding happy that they'd gotten through Carlton's reasoning so they could get to what he really cared about. "What happened?"

Carlton shrugged, "I thought we were going well." He found his eyes dropping against his will down to the glass of water the waitress had brought him. "Little fights here and there, but all couples have those. I worked too much. I wasn't... I've never been good with feelings."

"I know," Jason said, sounding amused. "Go on."

"She told me one day about five years ago that she needed space. I slept on the couch, slept in some hotels. Finally got a separate apartment, moved my stuff out, and she started dating a firefighter." Not that he was bitter. She seemed happy with the boyfriend she had now – not the firefighter, but the one she'd been dating for the last few months. He might have followed them at first before finally figuring out that she was better off without him. "We tried. Therapy, new age hippie nonsense. Everything there was, we tried. I tried." Carlton shrugged. He hadn't been good enough, and if he had been weaker, he would have let those recently reopened wounds get to him. As it was, he traced a finger up and down the glass of water, condensation dripping down around the path he left. "Few weeks ago, she invited me out to dinner, had the paperwork for me to sign, and she went back to being Ms. Parker instead of Mrs. Lassiter."

"And you agreed to sign them?"

"No point in staying on a sinking ship, is there?" He met Jason's gaze and refused to look away. "She wasn't happy with me. I couldn't make her happy or make her love me. So I let her go."

Jason considered for a moment before saying, "I'm proud of you, you know."

"Proud?"

Jason nodded. "You never let go of things easily, not even the things worth letting go of. Admitting that moving on was better for her – and for you, which I think it was even if you don't – is a big step for you. So yes. I'm proud." Carlton almost smiled. "Was there anyone else?"

Like that, Carlton's good mood faded. "Anyone else? I didn't cheat on her, if that's what you're-"

"I'm not," Jason held up his hands to stop him. "God, Carlton, I know you. I know you'd never. But since you separated. Has there been anyone else?"

Carlton shook his head, but Jason held his gaze evenly until the name fell out of him. "Lucinda."

Jason's smile was kind, gentle as he said, "There we are. Tell me about her."

"She was my junior partner before O'Hara. Blond hair. Good with her gun."

"Ah," Jason leaned back in his chair. "Had sex?"

If it were anyone else, he would have told them to leave the subject alone, but he had never been able to stop himself from giving Jason whatever he asked for. "It was mostly a sexual relationship."

"Didn't get in the way of work, though."

"Of course not." Though he had his suspicions of how Spencer found out he was sleeping with her, and it might have been a lack of professionalism on his part. But he wouldn't tell Jason that. Not unless he asked. "It came out that we'd been seeing each other, and Lucinda transferred."

"Didn't want to be your girlfriend?"

"Didn't want people to think she'd been sleeping her way into her promotions, which is fair. She was a damn good cop. Didn't need me to climb her way up the ladder."

Jason nodded agreeably. "But still. No personal connection?"

"Not really. We haven't spoken since she transferred."

"We didn't either."

Carlton's head jerked up, "I asked if you wanted, and you said-!"

"You were newlyweds. Didn't need me taking up space in your head that should be going to her. I said it, and I meant it, but you should have told me when you separated." Jason's disappointment was clear, and Carlton felt his chest tighten in despair. Jason's fingers plucked idly at the paper napkins laying near his side of the table. "Lucinda. How did it happen?"

"Accident. Adrenaline and a shoot-out at the end of a rough case."

"Couldn't help yourself?"

"No," Carlton agreed, fully aware at this point that he was being interrogated, and he was so very, very guilty.

Jason leaned forward more, his voice low, "No premeditation, then? No wondering what she'd be like if she loosened up a little? If she'd get demanding when she got close to coming?" Carlton swallowed dryly. Jason knew him too well. "Having orders snapped at you – you must have missed it."

"Yes," he agreed quietly.

"So you planned it. Waited for the right moment and gave in." Jason frowned gently, looking and sounding hurt. "Without once talking to me."

"Jace," he wanted to reassure, insist. He'd thought... he'd thought they were _done_. But he couldn't say that, didn't want to now. Not if he could have it back.

"Is that psychic next, Carlton? The next knife I'm going to have to pull out of my back?"

"God, no! Not Spencer. I'd never. Not him." Not that he hadn't thought about it from time to time. Alone and in the dark where he could pretend things would go the way he wanted them to and not backfire in his face.

"It'd just be someone else," Jason said sadly.

Carlton's reassurance was cut off by the arrival of their food. Jason ate in silence, refusing to look at Carlton no matter how badly Carlton wanted him to. "I need a few days to process all of this," he said after a long silence while Carlton was chewing, making it obvious that Carlton wasn't to answer. "Try and keep it in your pants until I decide what I'm going to do with you." In spite of his stern tone, his mouth curved into a small, forgiving smile.

Carlton nodded, feeling elated in spite of his guilt. It was like Jason never left.


	3. Chapter 3

"Stop it, Shawn."

Shawn shook his head, slowly pulling himself out of the quiet contemplation he'd been in for the last few minutes – or the last hour, judging by the clock. He tossed the tennis ball against the wall one last time, catching it and smiling defiantly at Gus who was glaring at him from over the top of his laptop. "You know it helps me think."

"Shawn, I've known you pretty much our entire lives. When you're trying to think, you get quiet, you close your eyes, and you block everything else out. Whatever you're "thinking" about," Shawn narrowed his eyes, feeling that airquotes were entirely unnecessary, "you're obsessing over. So stop so I can focus on the research you're too lazy to do."

"Stop obsessing or stop throwing the ball?"

"Preferably both." Shawn slumped in his chair just enough to make Gus lean back in his, watching Shawn with the look that usually said he wanted Shawn to talk out whatever was bothering him.

Only, Shawn didn't want to. He rolled the ball to the other side of his desk and clasped his hands over his stomach, twiddling his thumbs as he observed the ceiling. Gus sighed and went back to work, leaving Shawn alone to think.

Shawn couldn't help himself after a long silence, "There's something weird about Slane."

"Shawn," Gus sighed again. But he didn't tell Shawn to stop, so he began rambling out loud.

"He doesn't make sense. Well. Most of him does, but the whole Lassie thing doesn't. Lassie doesn't have friends, and if he did, he wouldn't be friends with Slane. And the way Slane just comes back in after all these years, and he just fits himself neatly back into Lassie's life? I don't buy it."

"You're assuming they haven't been keeping contact since he's moved away."

"Is it a federal offense to open someone else's e-mails?"

"Shawn!"

Shawn zipped his mouth, "You didn't hear anything 'cause I didn't say anything. Right? But trust me. They haven't been talking."

"Fine. Let's say they haven't. Hypothetically because I don't want to know about whatever shady stuff you go through to continue fueling whatever it is you have for Lassiter. Deal?"

"Deal," Shawn beamed at him before looking back at the ceiling, memorizing the pattern and following it with his eyes while he continued to ponder. "Anyway. He comes back, and he fits back in without a fight? Lassie's separated from his wife, divorced, been with his partner, been training Jules, put up with us – he's grown a bit, changed, so you'd think there's be some sort of friction."

"Can I point something out?"

Shawn looked back at him, "Of course, Gus."

"When you came back after being gone for way longer than Slane was, it was like you never left. You showed up outside my apartment one day with the last postcard saying you thought you'd deliver this one yourself. We ate jerk chicken then went home to watch something on TV. Nothing changed."

Shawn opened his mouth and closed it a few times, but Gus was right. Their friendship had been paused, but they'd picked up from the moment they left off the moment Shawn came back to Santa Barbara. "But, dude. That's _us_."

"Maybe Slane is as good of friends with Lassiter as I am with you. That's all I'm saying."

"I don't think so. Like the Lassie thing, right? If he knew Lassie hated being called that, and he was his best friend, then he would've told us not to. Not asked if he didn't mind it anymore."

"Because people aren't allowed to change."

Shawn frowned, "Because best friends know. I could write a book about how to push your buttons, about where your limits are and how far I can nudge you over them before you pull back. I know you inside and out, and don't even act like you don't know me just as well."

"Fine," Gus shrugged. "I won't."

"Good. The point is: if we're pretending Slane and Lassiter are that close, there needs to be evidence supporting it, and there isn't."

"And why do you care, again? Besides your whole Lassiter obsession."

"Because I think there's something weird going on with Slane. He's like that guy in all the horror movies that's really nice and everyone trusts him then he turns out to be a mad scientist or a serial killer and everyone dies because no one ever thinks it's him."

"So you think he's a serial killer."

"No, Gus!" Shawn sat up, leaned forward to glare at Gus. He just wasn't getting it the way Shawn needed him to. Or, more likely, he understood just fine and wanted to frustrate Shawn. "I don't trust him. Call me paranoid-"

"-fine, you're paranoid-"

"-but I..." It was hard to put his finger on exactly why he kept liking Slane less and less the more he thought about it. "I think he's up to something."

"Wanna know what I think?" Shawn nodded, willing to let Gus talk. He could have solved most of Psych's cases by himself eventually, that was true, but Gus was his best friend. Observant and intelligent in his own ways, and his unique insights were as useful as his company was welcome. Gus pushed his laptop to the side so he could get a good look at Shawn. "I think you're paranoid, just a little, because Drimmer was a dirty cop, so you think Slane might be too. You've been giving everyone except Chief Vick, Lassiter, Buzz, and Jules the eye since it happened. Like you're waiting for one of them to try and kill you too."

Shawn's head tilted briefly to the side, a small nod, a concession. Gus was right – he was more on guard nowadays, but that was perfectly normal and fine. It didn't explain why Slane made him feel like his paranoia might just be justified. "And I think you're jealous."

"What?" Shawn frowned intensely at him. What did he have to be jealous of Slane for? He was damn good looking, got laid on a regular basis, had a successful business bullshitting people for fun and profit (and helping them though he wasn't sure how readily he'd admit that being of importance). He was extremely, ridiculously lucky.

"You're jealous that someone else is close to Lassiter the way you'll never be," Gus explained. Shawn opened his mouth to deny it, but Gus's expression hardened, and Shawn slumped more in his chair, wishing he hadn't rolled the tennis ball away so he could go back to throwing it against the wall. "Combine that with your paranoia, and you're setting yourself up to blame this guy for any crime that you can even marginally link to him. And a psychic who keeps getting things wrong is going to be an out-of-work psychic, and we don't need Psych to sink for at least three more months."

"Fine," Shawn said as he sulked. "Maybe you're right."

"You can't fool me, Shawn. Also, you couldn't write a book about me."

"Oh, couldn't I?" He let himself be distracted, looking at the challenging smile on Gus's face with an amused one himself.

"You'd get halfway through chapter one, then something shiny would distract you, and you'd never come back to it."

"That's not fair," Shawn pouted.

"Dude, you're basically a ferret."

"Am not!" He reached for the tennis ball while Gus reached around to grab his laptop.

"Don't you dare throw that ball at my computer, Shawn!"

"I'm throwing it at you. If I miss and hit that, it's your fault." It wasn't long before Gus abandoned his laptop to reach for one of the other knick-knacks on the nearby shelves to throw back. The toy war was distracting, but not distracting enough to keep Shawn from realizing that Gus was probably right.

\-----

A few days later when they were called to the station again, he saw the way they shot a look at each other from across the room. Slane's smile seemed genuine and pleasant and Lassiter's mirrored expression made Shawn feel uncomfortably unhappy. Jealousy, he reminded himself. Jealousy and paranoia. Nothing more.

He thought those feelings, once he acknowledged them, would get somewhat easier to deal with. But they didn't. Every time the two were associated together in conversation or in their actions, something in his stomach twisted cruelly, and he forced himself to think of anything else to keep the impulses to act hurtfully towards them both away. Not that it would have done much good. Lassiter was getting better about keeping himself in check, and no matter how Shawn wheedled at him, he remained relatively at ease.

It was making work boring until it got to the point where he didn't even want to answer the phone at Psych or his cellphone anymore. He realized he was sulking. Mourning something that had passed without his knowledge. Something he probably didn't even have the right to mourn. It remained nameless in his head, thought of only as the Lassiter-related hurt that had him looking for any reason to stay away from the station.

Turned out he could only claim bad vibes and angry spirits for so long before Chief Vick had him handle an entire consultation by phone. He knew who did it by the end of the call. He didn't care, and if it hadn't been for Gus flicking his ear when he was about to give the answer without any sort of preamble, he might have given up the game right there.

Either way, he was happy when it was over and even happier that Lassiter had asked two questions Shawn had easy answers to. Nothing personal. Nothing Slane. It didn't hurt as badly. Maybe it was manageable.

But when they were called to the station to watch the interrogation of Shawn's suspect who was being somewhat difficult, Shawn figured out a few things. He should have been listening to Lassiter talk, but what was the point? He knew the scruffy teenager did it; it was up to Lassiter to finish proving it for him.

Besides, how was he meant to listen with _that_ staring right back at him. The patch of skin was just above the collar of his shirt, a circle of darker skin, tinted pink. Lassiter had a _hickey_. Had probably been getting down and dirty with someone, and they had left him with that. Someone had Lassiter unbuttoned and unhinged, maybe unclothed, but nevertheless _willing_ and Shawn couldn't get him to be agreeable on a good day.

And that someone – probably Slane – was not him. Shawn's hands curled into fists at the realization, and he blinked rapidly, trying to retrace his steps to figure out where he'd jumped track onto that and why it suddenly mattered.

He breathed a quiet, "Oh," wondering if Gus had noticed a long time ago or if Shawn having an actual real crush on Lassiter had just pounced on him from the shadows after lingering for so long in limbo. Hit him like one of Cupid's arrows.

God, he thought with a wry smile, he was going to make himself sick if he let this devolve into Cupids and hearts and girlish sighs this quickly. He needed to man up and get back in the game. Henry and Madeline Spencer hadn't raised a loser.

Well. Depended on which parent you asked and how long ago Shawn had solved a high-profile case, but those were just details.

"Do you see something, Mr. Spencer?"

He jumped a little to realize that Chief Vick and Gus had both been staring at him. He nodded, hand to his temple. "The spirits are telling me that guy needs to shower more than once a week and lay off the Axe body spray. Oh," his eyes opened, "and that he's definitely, 100% the guy who did it. They said look in his car."

"His car?" Gus shook his head. "The guy's car was stolen 2 months ago. He reported it missing and everything, Shawn."

"Makes it a convenient storage place for stolen merchandise, don't you think?"

Vick hesitated before nodding and calling Lassiter and Juliet out of the interrogation room to give them Shawn's information. Shawn passed by Lassiter and took a moment to look at the mark on his neck, at the way he was starting to smile.

Shawn smiled slowly back at him, watching Lassiter's expression falter just slightly. As if wondering what all Shawn knew. Shawn reached up to waggle his fingers over his own temple. He winked just to see Lassiter glare.

And somehow Shawn didn't feel like he was being told to stop or go away. No, instead it felt more like he was being told to step up to the plate.


	4. Chapter 4

Today had been one of his worst days since Jason had come back. To be fair, he felt like it was a testament to Jason's influence that he had been leaning more towards the happy side nowadays as opposed to the grumpier person he'd been before. But that didn't change that today – chasing his tail with prompting by Spencer who had magically decided to come back out of hiding after spending almost two weeks with barely any contact with them – had been horrible.

He tried to clear his head. Spent a few minutes at the shooting range before figuring out that wasn't where he wanted to be. Spent the early evening exercising, going through old files, reading one of the many Civil War books he kept on his shelves. All of it to no avail. He couldn't get Spencer's irritating influence out from under his skin.

He looked up from his spot on couch as the front door opened, allowing Jason into his home. "You're late," he said, knowing he shouldn't accuse, but he'd been miserable for hours, and Jason had gotten off work at the same time he had. There was no reason he shouldn't have been over sooner.

"You needed time to simmer down." Jason leaned over the back of the couch, hand caressing Carlton's cheek gently. When he drew Carlton up, he went willingly, letting Jason kiss him. "It's been a while since I've seen you that mad."

Carlton leaned back on the couch, ignoring Jason as he slipped off his own suit jacket and tie. "We were running in circles all day because of him. Waste of police resources and my precious time on his stupid hunch."

Jason's hands rubbed at his shoulders, firmly grounding him as he wondered, "Does it hurt more or less that he ends up being right in the end?"

"More," Carlton answered without hesitation.

"But you're getting the right person in the end."

"But his methods mean we spend days dancing to his tune instead of doing what we ought to be doing just for him to redirect us at the last second to someone else. He makes us look like idiots for his own amusement, and I'm the only one who cares."

"I care," Jason reassured him. "You let him get to you too easily."

Carlton was silent while Jason's hands continued working at his shoulders, thumbs cleverly massaging at a knot of tension right at the base of his neck. Finally, he admitted, "I'm doing my best, Jace."

"I know." Jason never raised his voice, always sounded so safe, gentle, and calm. But even a hint of disappointment made Carlton want to apologize as quickly and thoroughly as he could. "You do so well for me. I just wish he'd stay away."

"You and me both."

"So you've said." Jason's hands steadied on his shoulders, stopped their rubbing, and Carlton closed his eyes. "Forgive me for not believing you." His breath warmed the back of Carlton's neck just before his teeth sank in.

It wasn't a fight they were having. Fighting would mean that both of them would be trying to win, but Carlton had surrendered the moment it began, gave himself up in hopes that Jason would understand. Would be able to fix him in time and with a bit of effort. Would find a way to keep him in line.

Would be able to stop him from obsessing over Spencer. Keep his thoughts from wandering. Keep him from imagining. Stop him before he made a mistake that not only hurt him but Jason as well. Not that he thought there was any danger, not really. Not when he thought about it. But there were quiet moments when his traitorous mind drifted down the avenues it should stay away from.

But thankfully Jason was there now to keep him in check.

He shuddered when Jason leaned back, observing his handiwork. His hand touched the pulsing, hurting mark gently, smoothing away his spit. "I forgive you."

Carlton's eyes opened, and he turned around to look at Jason who smiled. "You do?"

"Of course I do." His smile was just as warm as it had been before. "What sort of man would I be if I didn't?" He pressed a kiss to Carlton's temple before moving away to the kitchen. "We all have our weaknesses. You need help with yours. Nothing wrong with that."

Carlton gave Jason a moment of space before following after him. He watched at Jason moved with ease through his kitchen, getting out the leftovers from a few nights ago as well as plates, cups, and silverware. "Thank you," he said after a long moment.

Jason popped the plastic container of leftovers into the microwave. "For what?"

Carlton wanted to shy away from the particulars, but he forced himself to get closer. So he hadn't been able to save his marriage. So what? He could have this. Could. If he quit being such a coward. He wrapped his arms around Jason's waist, kissed beneath his ear. "For being patient with me. For helping me."

"Anytime." Jason moved, twisted enough to press his lips against Carlton's. "Didn't think I'd ever hear you admit to needing help."

"If you were anyone else, I wouldn't." He trusted Jason beyond a shadow of a doubt and had for a long time. If anyone could help him – make him right again – it would be him. The microwave dinged, and Carlton backed away.

They ate dinner in the living room, watching an old Western movie. Carlton couldn't help but be appreciative of Jason's patience, again. This was his preferred entertainment, not Jason's, and even though his friend shifted slightly, his discomfort was suffered until they finished eating. Carlton let the movie keep playing, but he brought his hand up to rest on Jason's thigh. It was too hard to voice his willingness, his need to pay Jason back for being as considerate and kind as he was.

Jason didn't need him to talk. His hand covered Carlton's, thumb running gently over his knuckles. They sat like that for a while, simply being close, ignoring everything but each other. It reminded him of the few companionable months he'd had with Victoria after the honeymoon phase ended before they started drifting apart. It reminded him of a long time ago, two cadets, two young officers. The trust they'd slowly built, a ladder rung by rung that Jason used to easily scale his walls.

"Jace," he said finally, needing him to take everything else away. Needing him to let Carlton show his trust and gratitude the one way he knew how.

Jason nodded, eyes moving back to the television until Carlton began to get nervous that he was being ignored. Jason's thumb tapped one last time along his knuckles before he pulled his hand away. "Down." Carlton let out the breath he'd been holding. "On your knees."

He obeyed quickly, staring straight ahead, waiting for orders. Jason chuckled, his fingers running up the back of Carlton's neck. The bite mark ached, and he shivered at the gentle touch. "Come here."

Crawling ought to have been humiliating, beyond his limits, but once he was kneeling between Jason's legs, he felt like he belonged there. Jason spared him a small glance, his hand brushing back through Carlton's hair, leaving it sticking up at awkward angles. "Go ahead."

Carlton worked Jason's belt loose, took his time undoing the fly of his slacks before pulling them and his underwear down. He took Jason quickly in his mouth, sucking, licking. Jason began to harden, the occasional twitch accompanying the constant swelling and stiffening going on in Carlton's mouth.

Using one hand to steady Jason's growing erection, Carlton put the other on Jason's knee. He pushed out, and Jason's knees sprawled apart, allowing him to get closer. Carlton rubbed his tongue along the hot skin, flicking over the smooth head and doing his best to get any reaction from Jason.

It almost physically hurt when Jason spoke, the callous disinterest making Carlton shudder, aching for approval and forgiveness. "Wonder if he knows. If," he drew in a quick breath as Carlton sucked him down, "if he knows what you need like I do. If he could do this for you. If you could ever trust him enough to do it."

Carlton didn't have an answer. Didn't bother trying to come up with one because he didn't want anyone else. He wanted Jason. _Needed_ Jason. Jason kept speaking, voice falling in an even rhythm, occasionally breaking to gasp or grunt. Carlton let himself focus on this, on giving Jason something worthwhile.

After so long, his focus narrowed to the movements of his tongue and his throat, the rhythm of his hand, the reactions of the body beneath him, and nothing else mattered. He wasn't Head Detective, didn't have that responsibility, didn't need that control. Could let it all go as a hand slid into his hair, hips snapping up and forcing hot, heavy flesh to the back of his mouth, deeper into his relaxed throat.

Stopped being anything except a hole to be fucked.

He swallowed as Jason came, shuddered as he pulled away. Carlton slowly became aware of his body again – his heart pounding in his chest; aching, trapped erection throbbing in time. He flicked out his tongue to catch the last taste of come on his lips, looked up at Jason who smiled fondly down at him.

"That was good," he said, voice roughened by the noises he'd been making towards the end. "Thank you."

Carlton shook his head, murmured, "Don't thank me." His free hand fell to his own clothed erection, palm massaging roughly as he leaned against Jason's knee. He didn't deserve to be thanked, not for making up for his own shortcomings. It should be expected of him. Kindness, mercy – he didn't understand them. Didn't understand Jason's reasons for giving them to him.

But he did. Jason's hand smoothed through his hair as he ordered softly, "Take it out. I want to see."

Carlton obeyed, turned his head shamefully against Jason's knee as he exposed himself to Jason's gaze and scrutiny. He continued roughly working himself, fingers curved in a tight fist, arousal and need humming through his body.

Jason's fingers slipped down to Carlton's chin, pulled him away from his hiding place and forced him to look up at Jason's face. Carlton immediately closed his eyes, not wanting to chance seeing disgust or disinterest anywhere in Jason's expression.

"I said I wanted to see, Carlton." Jason commanded gently, "Open your eyes."

When Carlton did, he saw Jason's smile. Warm comfort, care beyond what he deserved and far beyond what he'd had for far too long. His rhythm stuttered as he met Jason's gaze, and Jason slowly pushed him back, sinking to the floor, knees on the outside of Carlton's as his hand covered his. He leaned forward, pressed a gentle kiss to Carlton's lips before moving their hands together. Carlton's free hand gripped Jason's shirt, tugging him harshly closer as his hips pushed insistently upward.

He gave a low moan as their speed quickened, fingers slick with precome and sweat making wet noises against Carlton's erection. "You're going to come for me," Jason said, his voice quiet. Intimate, warm words clouded Carlton's head, and he allowed Jason to own him completely. "And when you do, I want you to come knowing how much I care about you. How I'd do anything for you. And no matter what you do wrong, Carlton, you will always, _always_ be mine." He kissed Carlton fiercely, and Carlton's head swam as he felt his body tighten.

"Jace," he moaned weakly as he came, his fist twisting in Jason's shirt as he pulled him closer. He slowly began to breathe, heart thundering in his chest as he pulled Jason closer, kissing him with everything he had. "Yours."

"Don't forget it." Carlton heard Jason's plea loud and clear, and he silently vowed that he'd do his best to never give Jason a reason to doubt.


	5. Chapter 5

He was being ignored. Ordinarily, it wouldn't have mattered. He would have just gotten louder, more over-the-top, demanding attention until it was given, but this? This deflated him. He stumbled through his vision, trying to make it vague enough to give him some wiggle room. But Shawn couldn't help noticing the way Lassiter refused to look at him.

He hadn't looked at him at all in the last few days except when he'd had to directly address something to Shawn, and then it had been quick, formal, and over with. Like they hadn't been working together for three years. Like Shawn was nothing.

It hurt. Genuinely. The way he'd hurt as a kid when Henry refused to give him any grade higher than a satisfactory or the way he'd hurt when he'd left Abigail Lytar standing on the pier when he was a teenager.

By the end of the case, he couldn't handle it anymore. He supposed he could have handled it head on, but he had practically mastered running away from his problems years ago. He left the station, check in hand, refusing to so much as glance at Lassiter's desk. Hopped on his bike and went for a ride that lasted hours, taking him all over the city. Hoping it might clear the restlessness from his system and he could figure out where to go from here.

Nearing midnight, he parked at the Psych office, stormed in with only one thing on his mind. He erased the multitude of drawings he'd put up over the last few months with a long sweep of his arm. After popping the cap off another marker with his teeth, he began to write, cataloging every change he could think of from the last few months that might have made Lassiter suddenly start ignoring him above and beyond what he'd been capable of before.

By the end of it, with many justifications and additions, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, he wrote 'Slane' in the middle. Circled it and stepped back. All of the changes – from Lassiter's coffee only being one cream and two sugars to the fewer number of hours spent at the firing range to the small smiles Shawn caught him hiding in quiet moments – could all be traced, one way or another, back to Slane.

He collapsed in his desk chair, eyed the board while he ran his fingers irately through his hair. It all came back to Slane, and if Shawn wanted to know why he was being ignored, that would be where he'd need to start. He considered driving to Lassiter's, tempted to wake him up in the middle of the night and demand while he was alone for answers, but Shawn fully realized that none were owed to him.

He was a pain in Lassiter's side, had always enjoyed getting on his nerves. Poking, prodding until the detective couldn't take it anymore. He wasn't owed anything because he'd realized the latent feelings behind his insistent bothering.

And besides. What happened if he drove across town to discover Slane answering the door, smug and nonchalant as if he wasn't sleeping in Lassiter's bed? Shawn wiped the thought away quickly. There was enough evidence to suggest they were sleeping together – regardless of his feelings, he had to accept that as fact if he was going to move on to the next step.

So why would Slane have Lassiter ignore him? He groaned and threw the marker at the board, hitting Slane's name as he flopped backwards in his chair. It probably wasn't even Slane's doing. Lassiter had figured out how to shut him down. The new relationship was coincidental.

Shawn didn't believe in coincidences often, but this one he might have to concede to. He fell asleep on the couch in the Psych office, remapping the board in his mind, sure that he'd missed something along the way.

\-----

He was willing to leave well enough alone. Really, he was. Could deal with being ignored for the time being, go on with his life until he saw an opening. Shawn was an opportunist – his extensive job history and, in fact, Psych itself was proof. And while he wasn't the most patient guy, there were some things worth waiting for.

But something drew his eye, and he found himself studying Lassiter again, harder this time, combing through every moment and movement, and the answers gave themselves. He was ignoring Shawn – Shawn had made his peace with that and also the fact that he'd have to fight to get back in Lassiter's good graces. There was more to it, though. More than him. 

Anyone familiar was met by an evasion of eyes, often hidden behind his aviators. His mannerisms were less direct, distracted like he couldn't focus the way he needed to. And while he was still snappish and in charge when it came to suspects and perps, when it came to getting his job done, his bark and bite had both softened when it came to the people around him. The people connected to him.

Others might have chalked it up to Lassiter opening up, finally getting comfortable with his role as a person of authority and power when he'd been struggling before. That he'd finally found a good influence to make him feel secure in a way he'd never been before.

Shawn, on the other hand, thought something was wrong.

He cornered Lassiter at his desk towards the end of the day. "Hey, Lassie. How's it going?" Lassiter ignored him, but Shawn had been prepared for that. He put his hands down on the top of the desk, leaning over and trying to catch Lassiter's eye. "Buddy? You there?"

"Go away, Spencer," he said without looking away from his computer. Refusing to look at him.

"Oh. Okay. Will do." He didn't move. Shawn smiled pityingly. "It didn't work before. Did you really think it'd work now?"

"No."

"So. Gonna just keep ignoring me?" Lassiter didn't answer, and Shawn refused to move. "That's fine. Really. Just wanted to give you a little advice."

"Go. Away. Spencer." His hands twitched on his keyboard, trying not to react, trying to keep himself calm and collected. Shawn was almost tempted to look and see, but the moment he closed his eyes, forcing himself to remember, he knew. Slane wasn't in the room.

Shawn ignored him. "You're losing your edge. Getting easy," he dragged the word out, leaned back and caught the slight flicker of Lassiter's eyes. Darting quickly to him then back again. "None of them see it, do they? But I do, Lass." Lassiter's expression firmed up; he scowled. "You weren't ever afraid of anything."

Lassiter looked at him for the first time of his own free will in nine days and some odd hours. A flash of searching blue before his eyes narrowed, and he pushed himself away from the desk. Shawn stepped between him and freedom. "Tell me I'm wrong."

"I don't have to."

"No," Shawn conceded. "But you should. Because if you can't... then maybe I'm right."

Lassiter gave him a thin smile, "You're wrong." Before Shawn could respond, Lassiter had shoved him to the side, into the filing cabinets near his desk. Shawn watched as he walked quickly across the bullpen, catching up to Slane who smiled at Lassiter in a way that made Shawn seethe in jealousy.

For a moment, Slane's eyes met his. A small dip of his head, a nod of acknowledgment with a too-knowing smirk, and then he turned, walking in-step with Lassiter to the front of the station.

Shawn brushed it off, caught up with Juliet as she finished straightening things up on her desk. "Hey, Jules."

"You okay?"

He stretched his arms above his head, arching his back and feeling the new hurts that the sudden collision with the filing cabinets had caused. "Good enough." He gave his most winning smile. "Always the best. Never accept anything less."

"Uh-huh." Juliet smiled at him even as she tried to seem disapproving. "What do you want, Shawn?"

"Can't a guy come talk to his favorite junior detective without being suspected of an ulterior motive?"

"No." Her smile widened, and Shawn laughed.

"Fair enough. Just wanted to ask – is something up with Lassie?"

"He's been a lot less grumpy lately." Juliet shrugged, looking over at his vacant desk. "There's something. His work's good. I mean, of course. He'd never let that go, but he seems more..." She thought about it for a moment, biting her bottom lip as if unsure whether or not she wanted to say it. "Distant. Lately. Like something else is always on his mind." She looked at him sharply. "Not that I mean that badly. He probably needs to be able to step away from work a little. I mean, _him_."

Shawn nodded in agreement, turned the conversation to Juliet's day and work and stresses while his mind turned over and contemplated her added testimony.

\-----

Too late at night, too many thoughts distracting him from the _why_ s and the _what_ s until he was roaring up to Lassiter's drive. This was a bad idea, poorly planned, but he had to know. Had to, and he wasn't sure why. It was an itch he couldn't scratch; a thought that flitted constantly on the edge of his mind like a shadow darting in the edges of his vision.

But he had to know. And if that meant a stakeout, a confrontation, a definite end to all of this? Then so be it. He could move on. Was a master of bouncing back, running away, and three years in a single place didn't mean he had forgotten how to pull that magic trick out of his hat.

He got off his bike, stormed up the pathway to the house, and paused, suddenly terribly nervous. It was entirely possible that he was wrong. Or worse, that he was right. That Slane had simply made Lassiter happy, and Lassiter was avoiding Shawn and others because he was absorbed in his relationship. Lassiter had always struck him as the sort of person who would go all-out once he found someone he really liked.

Shawn took a second, tried to force himself through the wall of envy that it wasn't him. Had never been, would never be.

He realized that if he was right – or wrong or whichever – and Lassiter was happy like this... then he was actively attempting to make him miserable. To take this away from him one way or another because misery was the only real opening he'd ever have. Desperation, a lack of other options. Shawn had enough sense to be thoroughly disgusted with himself.

But not enough to stop creeping forward, silently now, peeking into the single lit room near the back of the house. He covered his mouth with his hand, kept his head down, did everything to keep himself from being noticeable should they glance his way. He peeked into the window, watched with fascination as he intruded on something he was never, ever meant to.

Lassiter was kneeling on a pillow on the bedroom floor, his hands crossed at the wrist behind his back, head bowed as Slane walked into the room. Slane took a moment, eyes wandering warmly over Lassiter before he crossed the room to him, knelt on one knee in front of him.

Slane lifted Lassiter's chin gently, must have met his eyes. He said something too quietly for Shawn to hear. Something intimate, meant for their ears alone even as Shawn intruded. Lassiter relaxed in his hands, let himself be kissed and touched so tenderly that Shawn was backing away before he'd realized how wrong he was.

That looked as much like love as Shawn had ever seen.

He put on his helmet and got back on his bike, rumbling as quietly down the street as he could. He kept imagining Lassiter on his knees, wondered how he'd never noticed or connected the dots to put Lassiter there. He shook the thought out of his head – even if it was appealing, it didn't matter. Once he was safely away, he gunned it, riding across the city as quickly as possible, knowing there was no place for him here.


	6. Chapter 6

He could have blamed Spencer. Probably should have – he hadn't asked to have his space invaded, to have his feelings for Jason (or Jason's for him) questioned. And he had tried, even with that, to keep his cool, to deal with him and get him out of the way. Really, he wasn't to blame at all.

But if he thought about it, took a long moment to think about his actions and reactions, Carlton realized that part of him wanted Spencer there. Wanted Spencer to want him, to push him until he had to push back. Until he couldn't help himself, couldn't be held responsible for his actions.

But sinners were responsible for giving in to their temptations, and his confession fell from his lips, unhindered as he knelt at Jason's feet. "I'm so..."

"Don't apologize unless you mean it." He cringed at the steel in Jason's voice, his fists tightening behind his back. Carlton tucked his chin against his chest, wishing... God, he wished he could leave this all behind him. That he could be what Jason believed he could be instead of the weak man that he was.

Carlton wanted to lean forward, press his head against Jason's knees, beg silently for forgiveness, but he didn't dare touch without permission. Not while in this state of disgrace. "Jace, please."

"Please what?" His demand wasn't harsh or cruel. Fingers brushed through his hair, gently promising forgiveness if he did what he needed to.

Carlton closed his eyes, drew in a shuddering breath. Murmured, "Punish me." Jason's hand pulled away, leaving him bereft of touch, leaving him alone when he desperately needed to know that Jason was with him. Would always be with him. If he could just... "Punish me until you can forgive me."

The gentle touch returned, cupping his face. "I can do that. If you're sure it's what you want."

"Please."

"Why?"

Carlton almost looked up, wanting to search Jason's face for the answer even though he knew he shouldn't. His shoulders tensed, and he forced his head to remain down. "I need you, Jace."

"I appreciate that, Carlton, but," his grip hardened, and he pulled Carlton's face up. His eyes flickered open, meeting Jason's tentatively. "But I need more this time." There was hurt, genuine hurt, and Carlton wanted to bend his head, lick Jason's shoes, offer his dignity, body, soul, anything for Jason to realize that he would do anything to keep from hurting him.

He searched for an answer, and the ones he came up with didn't sound true. He voiced them anyway, desperately, "I can't control myself. I need someone to keep me in line. I want to be good enough. Good for you." Something in Jason's expression softened, and Carlton found himself begging, "Please help me."

"Of course," he said, voice comfortingly soft. Carlton turned his head slightly, pressed a thankful kiss to the fingers he could reach. "Whatever you need." Jason smiled down at him, "Give me a few days to figure out a suitable punishment." 

Carlton nodded, his chest tight and voice weak as he said, "Thank you."

\-----

Every time he thought it might be too much, he reminded himself that he deserved this. That he'd asked for it, no less. Anything to make Jason able to trust him again. It was all worth it. Granted, his body was telling him a different story. Pain and arousal, excitement coupled with dread. Promises ringing in his ears, whispered hotly before his own handcuffs had closed around his wrists, binding them tightly behind his back.

He turned his face into the mattress, his teeth digging into the material to try and contain his pained noises. "Stop," Jason ordered, another stinging hit burning across his ass. Carlton had gotten a good look at the paddle, wooden with studs meant to _hurt_ when they landed, and he had assented, hoping desperately that this would be what Jason needed to forgive him. To make him feel the hurt he'd caused. To make him sorry in a way he couldn't be on his own. "Stop muffling yourself, Carlton. I want to _hear_ you." At 'hear', he brought the paddle down hard, and Carlton groaned loudly in pain, his head falling helplessly down on the mattress.

He didn't cry. Couldn't. Nothing had brought tears to his eyes in such a long time. But if he could, he thought he might have started then. He had lost count, had no idea how many he had left to go. His awareness was drifting away, pain dulling the rest of the world around him. 

Three more hard swats, and Carlton was panting for breath, lost except in the knowledge of deserved pain. "That's enough," Jason told him, and he heard the paddle being put on the nearby dresser. Hands soon smoothed over his heated, aching skin, and Carlton writhed, wanting to get away from the source of pain even as he needed it. Selfishly needed more.

A single finger pushed into him, wet with spit, roughly thrusting before he'd finished his yelp of surprise. "I'm going to fuck you," Jason informed him calmly. Carlton pressed his forehead against the mattress, wiping sweat away as he arched his back, trying to grind back on Jason's hand. "Mostly dry. It's going to hurt, Carlton. And it'll hurt for a few days."

Carlton nodded against the mattress, shuddering as two more fingers pushed into him. "If you're good until the bruises heal and the hurt goes away, I'll forgive you. If you can behave that long, you'll have more than earned my trust again."

The rough preparation over, he felt the head of Jason's erection pressing insistently at him. Carlton shuddered, trying to relax as best he could as Jason forced his way in. Stiff, hot flesh pushed into him, going through all resistance without once slowing down. He had used a little lube, enough to keep Carlton from tearing open, but it was a very near thing.

Jason fucked him hard, caring little for Carlton's comfort or arousal. His hands gripped his hips, pulled him back to meet his thrusts. He pushed in again and again, feeling impossibly deep as their bodies met roughly. He stretched over Carlton's back, teeth scraping down his back as he moaned filthily. Carlton tried, again to muffle his noises. It was the last bit of control he had, and Jason stripped him of that as well.

One hand's fingers wound through the short strands of his hair, pulled him up, forcing his chest into the mattress. Carlton hoarsely moaned – pain and need, his lips stumbling around the word 'please' while Jason continued to use him.

Jason growled as he came, thrusting a few more times before he stilled. His hands gentled as he pulled himself out. Carlton collapsed, breathing heavily. Jason ran his thumb over his sore hole, and Carlton shuddered but held otherwise still under his probing hands.

His hands were freed, but before he could do much else, Jason was hushing him, encouraging him onto his back. That mattress rubbed at Carlton's sore, abused ass, and his eyes fought to stay open, to look at Jason who was watching him with the same gentle smile he craved.

"I love you, Carlton."

Carlton, beyond words, only nodded. Shaped the words on his lips, but his throat was too tight, voice too rough from before. "I..." Jason hushed him again, bent his head and took Carlton's neglected erection into his mouth.

Carlton came a few minutes later, completely undone. Jason swallowed it all and moved up the bed, taking Carlton into his arms. "You did so well for me," he said gently, soothing Carlton's minute trembling with long, even strokes of his hand up and down his back. He avoided the tender skin, kept himself to the less sore parts of Carlton's body.

Carlton buried himself against Jason, clung to him, needing the security he offered. When he thought of Jason leaving him, of not being good enough, his grip tightened, and he apologized in a weak, raspy voice, "So sorry," but before he could say it again, Jason pressed a comforting kiss to his forehead.

"I know you are. I know. You did so good."

They lay together for a long time, Carlton listening to Jason's heartbeat as he slowly calmed. Jason pulled himself away, returned with a glass of water that Carlton accepted with shaky hands. He sat up and gasped, the renewed pain catching him by surprise. Jason smiled almost apologetically. "You asked me to."

"I know. Been a while." He had never needed much punishing, not even when they'd been younger. Rules were his bread and butter – that had never changed. Part of him despaired. Why was he having such a hard time obeying them now?

"Since the last time we-?"

"Like there's been anyone else?" Carlton shook his head, smiling at the sincere look of adoration in Jason's eyes. "I couldn't. Even if I wanted to. They could never be..." He shook his head, unable to fully admit his feelings and hoping Jason would forgive it. "You set a high bar."

"I do my best." A fleeting kiss was pressed against his lips. "Go get cleaned up. I'll make the bed."

"Yes, sir." Jason grinned and squeezed Carlton's hand before nudging him gently towards the bathroom. He was a little wobbly walking, and everything hurt, but Carlton's was smiling, feeling invincible. Jason was proud of him. What more could he ask for?


	7. Chapter 7

It was startlingly easy to make himself forget. A string of independent cases meant they were working mostly separate from the police department, and Shawn forced himself to keep busy, keep his thoughts occupied. Hanging out with Gus, television, and more first dates than he cared to count, and he still found his mind wandering.

He knew this restlessness too well. It usually spurred him on to his bike, on to his next adventure. This was the first time, so far as he could remember, that it had been connected directly with a person. There was no denying where his unhappiness came from, and the more he thought on that, the more he dragged his heels on the ground and refused to leave.

The next time they were called in on a case, it was regarding the kidnapping of a 6 year old girl. Melissa Marconi had gone missing from her family's home when one of her mothers fell asleep on the couch during her daughter's naptime. There were too many suspects – insane relatives, the girl's biological father, the girl's old nanny who had practically raised her during her infancy, and the list went on and on.

Lassiter never once shied away from him. No avoidance, no dancing around the topic at hand. All business – exactly the way he should be. "We want Melissa found as soon as possible. If you get in the way at all, Spencer, I'll make sure you regret it."

Shawn was so surprised at being directly addressed for the first real time in at least a month that by the time he came up with something to say, he and Gus were already on their way back to the Psych office to do things their way.

"Infertile aunt with known history of mental illness and obsession over her siblings' children. Biological dad with visitation rights who might have decided he loved Melissa too much to not raise her." He shook his head at them. The police would be looking at them first as the primary suspects. He needed to find someone they might not suspect as quickly. "What do we know about the nanny?"

"She's living in San Diego."

"Close enough to cause trouble." Shawn paced restlessly. "Tell me more."

Gus thumbed through the file Shawn had been too distracted to read. "Worked for the Marconis for three years, pretty much raised her from when Melissa was born until she was three. Her husband died not long before they took her in. They said she was practically part of the family."

"Why'd she stop?"

"Doesn't say. Just said she had to be let go when Emma stopped working in order to be a stay-at-home mom. Jackie had just gotten promoted and could foot all of their bills while Emma wrote freelance articles to help fill in the gaps." Gus shrugged. "Change in the family dynamic, Shawn."

Shawn stopped pacing, thinking out loud. "Unless."

"Oh no." Shawn looked at him sharply. "You've got that look that says you have some crazy theory."

"Both of them working high-demand jobs, doing their best to be working women while also having a family at home."

"Nothing wrong with that, Shawn."

"Not at all, _but_. Let's say Melissa grows up under the influence of Mary Poppins here. She sees her every day, practically more than her own parents. She's cared for, loved, and what do you want to bet Melissa slipped up. Called her 'Mama' or something within earshot of the other two?" Shawn was moving animatedly, his hands waving as he continued thinking. "They get mad, fire her immediately – or with enough of a gap that she's never really sure why – and Emma quits her day job to be a better parent. Three years later, Poppins returns for the last bit of family she has left after being driven mad with grief and loneliness."

"First of all, that theory isn't built on facts."

"Most of my first ones aren't."

"Shawn," Gus frowned. "Vera Horne works for a daycare in San Diego. She's around kids all the time, and just because her husband's dead doesn't mean she didn't have kids of her own." He held up a picture of a tanned young man with spiky hair and bright blue eyes. "His name's Marcus. She went to live with him after the Marconis fired her."

"She's on the suspect list for a reason. The fact that the reason isn't on there is suspicious enough, don't you think?" He appealed to Gus's sensible, logical side and waited. It took all of five minutes before he was back to flipping through the file.

"It just says she might have been attached, but neither of them think she did it."

"Would you be clogging up the kidnapping investigation for your child if you honestly think the suspect didn't do it?"

Gus faltered again, and Shawn pumped his fist, knowing that he'd won.

\-----

They tracked down Emma and Jackie at home. Shawn put his fingers to his head and said that the spirits thought they weren't being wholly honest about their opinion of Vera Horne. Jackie glared at him the entire time – didn't believe in the psychic shtick at all and just wanted her daughter back. Emma, on the other hand, looked nervously between the two of them and her partner, obviously holding something back. Both of them looked like they'd aged five years in the space of a few hours.

"Emma? The spirits say you have something to share?"

"Em," Jackie said disapprovingly.

"Ma'am, we're just looking for anything that can help us fine Melissa as soon as possible," Gus reassured them.

Emma broke not long after. "Vera was a nice lady. She really was, but she started calling Melissa all these sweet pet names like 'my sweetpea', and it wasn't hurting anyone, but we didn't want Melissa getting the wrong idea when she got older."

"We were trying to make a family," Jackie said finally. "Vera didn't fit into our plans, so we let her go. We sent her a Christmas card every year with a picture of Melissa and our thanks for her help. We were friends."

"Were?" Shawn leaned forward from his seat on the nearby couch.

"Are," Emma corrected quickly.

"Emma, Jackie. Macaronis, _mis amigas_ , why was Vera Horne on the list of people you thought might have kidnapped her?"

Jackie sighed, straightforwardly said, "Vera was attached to her. We're under a lot of stress right now, Mr. Spencer, and we can't afford to think that she would never do it. She's a family friend, but she's just as likely as my sister or as Tom. They're all attached to her in their own ways, and I can't... I could never live with myself if Melissa's kidnapper got away with her because we gave anyone the benefit of the doubt."

Gus touched his arm, and Shawn knew their welcome was up. "I'm sorry. You're right. The spirits just needed to know." He smiled, trying to be reassuring. "We'll find Melissa."

On the way back to the Blueberry, Gus pointed out, "Shawn, did you just promise two distressed parents that we would find their missing child, a statement they will take as fact given your fake psychic abilities? Knowing that we might not?"

"We'll find her, Gus." He slid into the passenger seat. "We have to."

"It doesn't work that way, Shawn." He started up the car, buckled his seat belt, and checked the mirrors before asking, "You realize you called them 'Macaronis', right?"

"What was I supposed to call them?"

"Mar-cone-ee, Shawn."

He shrugged. "Close enough."

\-----

They had a nice, short visit with Vera Horne, posing as a couple who had just moved in down the street looking to meet their new neighbors. They excused themselves after less than 15 minutes, Shawn storming back to the car with a scowl. "She didn't do it."

"We drove all the way down here..."

"For her to not have any classic signs of guilt. Not once did she look anywhere but at us. That is possibly the nicest, most pleasant lady we will ever meet, and she's innocent."

"You're sure?"

"How many pictures of Marcus did we see in the last fifteen minutes, Gus?" Before Gus could even pretend the count, Shawn said, "27. And that's including the ones hanging on the walls and sitting on shelves. And how many of Melissa?" Gus glared at him, waiting for him to get to the point. "Three. All three of them hung up with Christmas cards that look like they were made by other kids." He slammed the door as he sat down in the seat. "Innocent."

"Okay," Gus said, always quick to recover. "Okay, that's fine. So we can focus on Tom and Jackie's sister, Clara."

Shawn nodded and settled back unhappily for the long drive back to Santa Barbara. Running over the facts in his head and occasionally flipping through the file to find something or another that always invalidated his ideas. He sighed, pulled out his phone, and dialed Juliet's number.

"Shawn?"

"Hey, Jules. Wanted to ask if you guys had any new news on the Marconi case?"

"Her dad has a solid alibi for the time of the kidnapping. It's been verified by too many people to be fake. We're looking for Clara now. No one knows where she is."

Shawn closed his eyes, tried to remember everything he'd learned about Clara in the last day. "The spirits are saying she had a boyfriend not that long ago. Make sure you check his apartment. If she's obsessed with having a perfect family, she needs a Dad, and he's the only candidate that fits."

"We'll do that. Thanks, Shawn." All of her usual vibrant cheeriness was gone. Shawn fought not to reassure her. She was a cop – she'd see it as him looking down on her, would reject it instantly. He didn't think he could handle more rejection just yet.

"Sure thing. Tell Lassie I said hi."

"I might. See you." She hung up.

"Clara?" Gus asked after giving him a moment of quiet to ponder everything out.

"Looks like it." Something still didn't feel right, but he kept that to himself. Clara was the most likely lead – that would be who they needed to chase down first in hopes it got them to Melissa quicker.

\-----

They arrived at Clara's apartment at a too-late hour to find night-shift detectives looking for any trace of where she might have gone. Shawn had left Gus at the office, telling him to go home. Reasoning that one of them should get some sleep when he wouldn't. He waltzed onto the crime scene with ease. The night-shift folks didn't like him as much as the day-shift, but he was recognized as a valuable resource especially in crimes that needed to be taken care of quickly.

She was a cat lady. A tabby was hiding under Clara's bed, fur afluff when Shawn spotted it. He held out his hand and drew it quickly back as she swiped. When the cat ran from the room, he noticed that she was limping, and it planted an idea that took all of a minute to confirm from other views of the house.

"Clara was also kidnapped!" He stood in the middle of the room, fingers to his head, remembering all the signs of forced entry that no one had bothered reading into. "Whoever kidnapped Melissa wanted us to think Clara was the culprit, so they took her as well."

It didn't make sense. It might buy them time to get away with Melissa, maybe, but it would have also taken time to get Clara and to stow her away somewhere while they ran off with the girl. He frowned, but continued, "Check the cat hiding in the kitchen. Mittens says he was defending his home from the intruder when he was kicked. Hence his limp. Check his claws and teeth – I bet you'll find some of the kidnapper's DNA." He collapsed on the nearest wall, trying not to feel too happy as the scene began to buzz to life quickly.

As he walked out of the apartment, he called Lassiter's cell phone. No answer. He frowned but kept walking to his bike. He rode on into the night, heading back to the station to touch base in person.

\-----

Lassiter wasn't at the station either. Juliet was, looking dogged and tired. "He wasn't feeling well. Had to go home before he collapsed. Jason promised to make him sleep at least three hours before he would let him come back."

Shawn felt that irritated itch, but he quickly brushed it aside. Finding Melissa and Clara was his first priority. His problems with Slane and Lassiter could wait for a day when there wasn't a chance they could save two people from whatever fate their kidnappers had in store for them.

"Where to next, Det. Jules?" He smiled wearily.

There was so much sadness in her attempt of a return smile. "I was hoping you could tell me."


	8. Chapter 8

His phone was going off. He could hear the little buzz that meant there was another phone call or voicemail or text message, but it was so far away. On the dresser while he was collapsed in bed, writhing in sheets, wishing he could keep his eyes open for more than a few seconds.

"Jace. My phone."

"You're not going back tonight." Jason laid down in the bed next to him, drew him into his arms, calmly comforting. "You're burning up, Carlton."

"I never get sick."

"You did. If you go back, you're not going to be able to help. A few hours. They'll find Melissa, or you'll go in tomorrow."

"Go in for me."

Jason laughed, shook his head and pressed a kiss beneath his ear. "So you can defy orders and go to work in spite of this? I don't think so."

Carlton tried to focus on something – the ruffling of the curtains, the gleam of light off the glass of water Jason had brought him an hour ago, anything – but it was all so far away. Lazy, lethargic, he went practically boneless, listening to Jason murmur, "It'll all be fine. You need to sleep it off. It'll be better in the morning."

He protested, wriggled until Jason murmured, "Hush, Carlton. Calm down and rest. Please calm down." He continued on, repetitive, calming, lulling Carlton closer and closer to sleep with the rhythm of his voice.

"Jace, please." Carlton tried one last time to struggle out of Jason's embrace, but strong arms held him. Carlton continued to blearily fight to keep his eyes open, desperate to somehow push past this. Force himself up and back to what needed to get done before he succumbed. Weakly, "Please."

"Shh," Jason said softly. "Calm. Rest. Let me take care of you." Carlton began to protest again, but Jason cut him off, "No buts. You won't be any use like this. You need to calm down. The sooner you fall asleep, the sooner you can be over this. Rest. Calm."

Jason's hand slipped into his boxers, and Carlton's breathing hitched as Jason took him in hand. "Don't..." It came out as barely a rush of air, and Carlton couldn't be sure if he'd spoken at all.

Jason stroked him to hardness, calmly directing him to rest, take it easy, let Jason take care of him. Carlton's eyes drifted closed, his breathing becoming labored as he got closer and closer to coming. When he did, he fell dizzyingly downwards into the dark embrace of sleep. He barely felt Jason cleaning him up before he was gone.

\-----

When he woke in the morning, his limbs felt heavy, and his mouth was cottony from the long amount of time he'd spent asleep. He singlemindedly pulled himself from Jason's embrace, scooting to the edge of the bed. It took him a few steps before the world felt right under his feet again as he stumbled over to the desk.

He'd missed so much. Calls from Juliet, one of the night-shift detectives, and Spencer. Voicemails left by the first two but not the last. And a single text message.

An address. Accompanying a picture of a building. And a time that was already long past.

"Carlton?" Jason asked softly.

Carlton didn't answer him. Called Karen instead. Told her what he knew, and explained that he'd been sick. "I'm going in," he said the moment he hung up, looking at Jason, daring him to argue otherwise.

Jason looked hurt. "Be safe."

Carlton wasn't sure why he felt disgusted, but it sat in his stomach, festering away whenever he thought about the previous night.

\-----

"The text was sent from her phone."

He looked over the crime scene, feeling more miserable by the minute. It was obvious what had happened. Open and shut. Nutjob got an idea in her head and a gun, and when things didn't go the way she planned... "Why would she text me? How did she get my number?"

"It was a cry for help, Detective. Clara had a number of them that were repeatedly ignored by her loved ones or exacerbated by her circumstances. You were caught in the crossfire. I'm sorry. Counseling will be made available to you if you need it."

Carlton looked over the scene one last time. Looking for anything to give him a reason for the horrible coincidences that had led him to this. Part of him – a huge part – wanted to be angry at Jason, to reason that if he'd just been able to check his phone, then he would have been able to prevent this. But he just couldn't. There was no way either of them could have known that this would happen.

"Someone needs to tell her parents. And Clara's family."

"I will." He could start serving his penance for this now. Maybe find a way to forgive himself in a few years when the scene managed to fade from his mind. Not that he ever thought he'd forget Melissa's staring eyes.

"Carlton," Juliet protested.

"Leave it, O'Hara."

He walked out of the building, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders, and he found Spencer standing just outside, looking nothing but concerned and upset. "Lass..."

"Go away, Spencer." He tried to walk around him, but Spencer grabbed his arm. Lassiter shrugged him off forcefully, turned to face him with a glare.

"I heard about what happened." Spencer frowned, seeming wholly distressed. "Lassie, you can't blame yours-" Carlton grabbed him by his shirt, hauled him close with a snarl. "-elf."

"I want you to go away. Leave me alone. Forever. I don't need your hijinks. I don't need your smart-ass, in-the-way bullshit. And on the off chance, on the very slight chance that God fucking hates me, and you _are_ psychic, Spencer." He leaned closer, sneered, "Why didn't you see this coming?" He pushed him away, stormed off to the Crown Vic before he caused physical harm.

The entire drive to the Marconi house, he slid deeper and deeper into the pit of self-loathing, playing the previous night in his head over and over again, trying to figure out how he could have stopped this from happening.

He'd been told once that what-if scenarios would drive an officer crazy. It was the first time in his career that he was absolutely certain that it would.

\-----

Such a simple request in hopes that he could somehow make his peace.

"Punish me."

\-----

He fell into an undeniable slump. His work suffered, his relationships suffered. He suffered. Wasn't sure why he didn't delete the text from his phone, but he couldn't. Could never make himself do it no matter how badly it hurt.

Nothing dulled the edge of knowing what his neglect had caused. Counseling was a pointless exercise. "You were sick that night."

"Yes. And?"

It wasn't an excuse. He couldn't allow himself excuses. He could have stopped it, could have saved them if he'd just been stronger. Weakness became seen as an enemy. He spent hours in the gym, at the firing range, fighting against an enemy he'd invented to deflect some of his hatred away from himself.

He worked the cases as best he could, but his mind drifted, missed obvious things, and it wasn't long before Karen was instructing him to take some time off, get his head back together one way or another or he was going to have to face the consequences.

The two weeks off were the most intense of his life. He put himself into Jason's hands, hoping that if he hurt enough, if he bled enough, if he suffered through to his core then he could live with the remainder. Jason obliged him, always did as he asked and nothing more. Nothing less, either. Granting him blessed agony to make him forget, for even a moment, why.

But the moment it passed, he was reminded, again. Needed more, begged for it.

He couldn't hide forever. Carlton knew that eventually the world would catch up with him, and he'd be forced back into a role he wasn't ready to take on. Jason pleaded with him not to step down as Head Detective. Kissed him, held him, loved him far more than he deserved.

Reluctantly, he stepped back into the action, but every day added more and more weight, and Carlton knew it was only a matter of time before he broke from it. But he powered through, not complaining, and doing his best to ensure that when he fell, his collapse wouldn't hurt anyone else.

Carlton hoped against hope that Jason would be able to put him together again.


	9. Chapter 9

The Marconi incident had left them all strained and hurting in various ways. Shawn wasn't selfish enough to think he'd caught the worst of it, but he couldn't push the case from his mind. Something didn't add up no matter how hard he looked at it.

The bodies had been found in an apartment that had been rented in Clara's name, but the landlady had only talked to her by phone. When Shawn brought up the cat, she blanched visibly, said that there were multiple residents who were deathly allergic to the things and that they were expressly forbidden.

Either Clara hadn't thought about bringing her cat along – unlikely – or someone set everything up.

The squeaky frog hit him in the head, and Shawn threw it back viciously. "What?"

"You're thinking about the Marconi thing again." Gus squeaked the toy before lobbing it back at him. "Stop that."

"Gus, something's not right."

"It's been almost three weeks, Shawn. Let it go."

"No." He sulked down in his chair, thought again that there was something he was missing, something he couldn't quite catch. "I can't. I've even been bugging Dad for help, and he has no idea. Just keeps saying I missed something along the way, but _what_?"

Gus sighed, let him think aloud to himself without interruption like he had been ever since the case closed. Eventually, he left to do his rounds. Shawn squeaked the frog at him, the eyes popping out. Couldn't bother stopping his train of thought to say goodbye.

There was no one who benefited from both Clara and Melissa dying. Melissa's parents had been devastated. Clara's family had lamented her apparent suicide with utter misery and remorse. Self-loathing seemed to be catching these days. Shawn knew someone else who was suffering from it too.

He tried to make his mind veer back to the problem at hand, but it became so easily stuck on Lassiter. Lassiter had taken two weeks of forced leave to get himself in order or else everything he had worked so hard for would go down the drain and had come back looking even worse than when he'd left.

Shawn felt bad for him, couldn't imagine what it would have been like if he'd been the one to receive the text. It would have been like failing the Yang case a few months ago. His insides twisted when he thought about it. When he thought about how different Lassiter had been then.

Shawn had texted him once since the confrontation outside of the apartments. _u remember the yang case?? i was so scared when she took mom. all my fault. i still have nightmares._

He hadn't responded, but Shawn hadn't expected him to. He squeaked the frog again, wondering if Lassiter was going to be all right. Wondering, just the same, if he ever would be, too.

Clara. Melissa. Dead. Why?

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and ran through the facts again. Murder-suicide was too easy, and there were too many holes. The apartment, for one. For two, Clara had never been suicidal so far as anyone knew. Unstable, yes, but that didn't necessarily lead to suicide. Three, no one benefited from their deaths, which meant there were no suspects. Four... four?

Shawn sighed, threw the frog behind him and heard it hit the board. Turned slowly to see the word Slane circled in red marker.

Four, five, and six. Why did she have Lassiter's number? Why did she text Lassiter of all people if she was looking for help? And why hadn't he answered when any other night, hell or high water or sudden illness, he would have?

\-----

He knocked at Lassiter's door, rang the doorbell, made a general annoyance of himself until the door slowly opened. "Spencer." The bags under his eyes had darkened, his scowl seemed deeper. He looked absolutely miserable. "I thought I told you to leave me alone."

"You did," Shawn agreed. "But we both know that's not going to happen." Lassiter looked away, refused to meet his eyes. Conceded defeat in a way Lassiter was never supposed to, and it took every last bit of Shawn's self-restraint not to step forward, pull him into his arms, and try to kiss that frown away. "There's something wrong. About the Marconi murders."

"Murder-suicide," Lassiter answered half-heartedly.

"Maybe, but I don't think so. Stuff just doesn't add up about it. The spirits are demanding that we look closer." He stepped closer, "Lassie, you know something's wrong with it. You see it too, don't you? Why did she text you? How did she even get your number, and why _you_ on the one night you weren't available?"

"Because the world is a cruel place, Spencer." Lassiter's fingers had tightened their grip on the door, his knuckles white. "Things happen. Terrible coincidences and weaknesses."

"You can't believe that." Lassiter didn't answer, and Shawn's stepped forward, hand gently squeezing his shoulder. "You can't, Lassie. It wasn't your fault."

"I didn't check my phone." He said it with such finality, like that was the end of it. He flinched subtly away from Shawn's hand, but he didn't move to get away.

"Why?"

"I was sick." Lassiter's voice was weak but sure. Shawn was sure he'd run over the scenario a million times, trying to find the weak link and always – always – coming back to himself. He looked as if he might say something else, recognition, a brief moment of hurt that faded as quickly as it appeared.

"There's more to it than that. Talk to me. Tell me."

Lassiter struggled to find the words, and Shawn only squeezed his shoulder again, silently offering him comfort while he worked it out. "I was trying to get out of bed. But Jace... He kept telling me to rest. To get feeling better."

"Wouldn't he check for you?"

Lassiter paused just long enough for Shawn to notice his hesitation. "He was keeping me in bed. Knew that if he let go, I'd get up and try to get back to work." His eyebrows lowered, his eyes focused on an undefined spot, flickering as he tried to work it out. "He was right." And yet, he sounded unsure. Wavering in his confidence. "He was trying to help."

"Was he?" That earned him a sharp look, the first piercing look directed at him in weeks. The flash of the old Lassiter gave Shawn hope. "Lassie, ever since he showed up, you've been getting more and more distant. You barely even talk to me anymore – which is fair enough; you don't like me, I know. But Jules? Buzz? You never look at them, even, unless you have to. It's so hard to get anywhere near you now."

Lassiter growled, "You don't understand."

Shawn stood at the edge of a precipice. He could step back, let Lassiter and Slane continue, wait and see what would change in the next few weeks and then try again with a more solid knowledge of what he was seeing. Or he could dive into the uncertain waters below and hope for the best.

One more fleeting look over Lassiter's slouched shoulders, mussed hair, and tired eyes, and Shawn dove. "Lassie, you can have what you have with him without the manipulative asshole part of the equation. You deserve better than that."

Lassiter knocked his hand aside, confusion and hurt waging war for control of his expression. Anger came out of nowhere and won. "Get out," he demanded with a snarl before slamming the door in Shawn's face. Shawn heard a lock click into place, and he sighed.

He left defeated, but not without something new to think about, turning over again and again in his head.

\-----

It took him several days of research, following Slane, prying phone calls, and finally a long talk with some people he probably should have stayed away from. But even scary criminals liked being told that their departed grandmother was smiling on them from the spirit world. Who knew?

He called Slane's cell number in the evening, said without preamble, "I know what you did, and I know what you're doing. I think we need to have a little talk before I decide to have one with someone else."

The hesitation was brief. "Then let's talk. My house in an hour."

"Perfect."

\-----

Shawn knocked on the door, smiling brightly as Slane opened the door. "Shawn?"

"Hi, Jace." Slane stiffened at the nickname, the harsh way Shawn said it. "Been a while, hasn't it?" They hadn't really talked beyond their initial introduction, and Shawn was somewhat glad for that. Wasn't sure if he'd have been able to see everything if he'd been buddy-buddy with Slane the entire time. "I think we need to have a talk."

Slane nodded slowly, and Shawn didn't miss the way his eyes moved, looking up and down the street as he stepped back. "So do I."

Slane's house was sparsely decorated, not as lived in if he'd been going there every night since he'd moved back. There were two chairs in the living room, and Shawn followed Slane's indication to sit in the one as he took the other. Slane leaned back, watched him carefully. His easy smile grated on Shawn's nerves, but he didn't let it distract him. "Say what you're going to say," Slane said after a long moment spent sizing each other up.

Shawn considered. Nodded and said, "I never really liked you, y'know."

Slane laughed, his smile widening, and seeming more genuine than Shawn had seen it. "Fair enough. The spirits tell you all about me?"

Shawn smiled slightly, "Something like that, yeah. Mostly, though, I think you overplayed your hand on Lassie. He doesn't do subtle."

"No," Slane said fondly, "he really doesn't." He leaned back in his chair, totally at ease. "But this isn't about him."

Shawn frowned and shook his head. "Actually, I think it is. I think a lot of it is about him."

"Tell me. Show me what you can do, Shawn."

"Several months ago, Lassie arrested a high-ranking member of the _Cinco Reyes_ gang. The cop you replaced killed him in his cell and framed Lassie to take the downfall. In the ensuing investigation, we outed him as a dirty cop after he tried to kill us. The gang unit had several open slots after the IA investigation – anyone who looked remotely shady was either relocated or pressured to resign." He leaned forward, eyes open as his fingers massaged his temples. "The gangsters knew that their inside men had been ruined, and they knew who to blame for it. They needed Lassie out of commission, and they needed someone on the inside who could play their hand without giving them away."

"And you think that person is me?"

"I know that person is you." Shawn's hands fell away as he leaned forward on the chair, attempting a smile that he knew wasn't as threatening as he wished it was. "Peter Torres. You arrested him back when the two of you were rookies, and the two of you became friends. He paid you a little money to look the other way every now and then, so he knew you were good when it came to morality, so the only question was how close could you get to Lassiter? Did he know about the relationship beforehand?" He paused, shrugged. "Curious. Want all the blank spaces filled in."

"Everyone knew we were close." Slane's fingers tapped out a rhythm on the arms of the chair. "No one knew about the relationship. Except for you."

"And the rest of the SBPD. Like I said, Lassie doesn't do subtle." He launched back into his explanation. "Torres calls you up, offers you a unique opportunity since he now has some serious cash, and all you have to do is keep your friend's nose out of his business. Sounds easy enough, and with Lassie having just split from his wife permanently, you fit back in perfectly. So they have someone else on the gang unit working for them, and they have Lassie on a leash. Literally. As I understand it."

Slane's smile widened slightly. "Sometimes."

Shawn felt a stab of jealousy, but he pushed it aside. "The next bit took a while. You had to slowly pull him away from everyone without him noticing. Had him tied up in the relationship-"

"Sometimes literally," Slane laughed again.

"-and kept him busy between you and his caseload that he didn't have enough time to think. Or at least not to realize that it was a bad thing. He stopped going to the reenactments, stopped going fishing, stopped socializing almost altogether." Shawn's scowl was one of the best he'd had in a long time. "Monopolized him."

"You say that as if he didn't monopolize me as well."

"Difference: I don't care about you. I really don't care, especially after what happened next. Because regardless of everything else, he was still a great cop and a good detective. He needed to be broken quickly. So you introduce a family, something he never really had, and tear it apart, and somehow make it his fault."

"Somehow?" Slane raised an eyebrow, still smiling easily, and Shawn felt hatred burn through him, hotter and more intense than the summer sun.

"You arranged it with Torres. He knew Melissa's family, knew about Clara's history of mental illness. He took them both, texted the picture to Lassie who was drugged to hell with your sleep meds. In his coffee, I'm assuming."

"And the glass of water I took him once I got him to lay down."

Shawn's fingers clutched the chair, holding himself back. "Torres killed them. And poor Lassie. Poor, poor Carlton didn't have anyone to fall back on except for you. Even if he suspected that you were at fault, you had convinced him you were the only one who could help."

Slane nodded, considered before saying, "Well done. That was a lot more thorough than I was expecting."

"I aim to please."

"So. To keep all this information to yourself. To leave Santa Barbara and not tell anyone. Name your price."

"There isn't one. I just wanted you to know that you're a sack of shit and that I sincerely hope you rot in some dark hole for the rest of your life."

Slane's smile was unwavering, "If money won't hush you, a bullet will."

"See, but then they know you killed me."

For the first time, Slane's smile dropped. "What?"

"You think I came here without telling anyone? I'm not an idiot, Jacy. The police, the _Reyes_ , my Dad – they all know I'm here. And they know what it means if I suddenly vanish without a trace. Or if I'm suddenly a little less alive than usual."

"The _Reyes_?" Slane was beginning to look paler than usual.

Shawn brightened up, standing, "Of course. I had to go to them. To find out where your connection was. Once I told them what I thought had happened, one of the guys came forward with his own suspicions about Torres who had promised to get them set up nice and tidy again with the SBPD. Killing a kid? Your biggest mistake. The _Reyes_ promised to take care of Torres on their own terms, and I was promised that it would be as unpleasant as I could imagine short of killing him." His grin widened, "I have a very active imagination, Jacy." Then it fell, "But then there was the question of you. What, oh what, am I going to do with you?"

"Tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you." Slane's stared up at him, looking properly fearful now that he realized the stakes Shawn was playing with.

"I want you to confess to everything. Give them every single detail in interrogation that you possibly can. And when they ask why you turned yourself in, I want you to be honest, Slane. That you're a coward, and that the _Reyes_ would have killed you if you didn't do exactly what I just told you to do."

"I'll implicate you," Slane said quietly, grasping at straws. He pushed himself out of his seat, crowded Shawn's space, his hand reaching for his gun futilely. "You're threatening to have me killed. I'll say you were working with them from the start and." He stammered, "And..."

"And what, Jace?"

Shawn turned to see Lassiter standing at the door, his gun in his hands, steadily trained on Slane. "Was wondering when you'd show up."

"Shut it, Spencer." He walked across the room, confiscating the gun from Slane's hands. "Why?"

"Because I care about you. Jesus, Carlton, Peter said that they were going to kill you if you kept it up."

"And I'm sure the hundreds of thousands in his secondary bank account have absolutely nothing to do with that." Shawn winced as Lassiter's expression firmed, anger and hurt flaring in his eyes as he began to recite the words by heart:

"Jason Slane, you are under arrest."


	10. Chapter 10

It took him almost half a year before things began to feel normal again. From the moment he'd stood outside of Jason's house, listening to the conversation Shawn had invited him to listen in on, he had begun healing. It took weeks for him to meet people's eyes without feeling as if it was forced out of him. It took months before he let anyone touch him without being shrugged off and snapped at.

Work was almost the same as it ever was. Gossip had bothered him at first, but when his work began improving – when he began improving – it all sounded like background noise. Static that could be ignored as he went on with his daily life. Eventually, people stopped talking.

He testified at Jason and Torres's trials, and only once did he feel himself falter. He'd met Jason's eyes across the courtroom, and for a moment, he'd felt insane for doing this to him. Wanted to take everything back and apologize for doubting him.

But he saw Shawn sitting in the seats behind him. Almost like he'd planned to be in Carlton's line of vision. With a smile and an approving nod from him, Carlton was able to finish testifying without any further hindrances. They were going to be put away for a long time, but the victory felt hollow.

He should have been able to see the way Jason pulled his strings. Should have been more suspicious, more aware, more everything. But the moment that self-doubt crept it, he distracted himself. Threw himself into his work until he might have drowned.

Six months, almost to the day after they put Jason away, Shawn invited him out to an after-work drink with Juliet and Guster. He had done it plenty of times before, but Carlton had always refused, worried about how his acceptance might be misread. But this time, he accepted.

Found himself smiling as Shawn made a fool of himself at karaoke, at Gus's slurred attempts to flirt with Juliet, and at her giggly reciprocations. 

He didn't worry once whether or not they wanted him there or whether he could trust them. Carlton knew the answer already.

\-----

It was several months later, the two of them almost alone in the station after a long day of work. Shawn was dozing tiredly, refusing to leave until he'd finished his paperwork so Carlton could drive him home. "I never thanked you."

Shawn opened a drowsy eye, watched him meaningfully for a few minutes before shrugging. "I'm just glad you listened to me. _Clue_ is too good of a movie to miss out on because you have an irrational dislike of Tim Curry."

Carlton felt nothing but gratitude for the deflection, played along with a scowl, "No man should be able to move like that in high heels."

Shawn laughed, grinning sleepily, "I hear that."

When he dropped Shawn off at his apartment, he was surprised when Shawn turned in his seat, fingers gently touching his face. Gazing into his eyes as he leaned forward, inviting. Carlton closed his eyes and shook his head slightly, unable to get away from the thoughts in his head, afraid of the part of him that wanted it to be Jason sitting across from him. "Shawn, I can't. Not right now. Not yet."

"Okay. All right," Shawn said gently, giving his hand a comforting squeeze. "But when you can? My door's open."

"I'll keep that in mind." Shawn's beaming grin had him smiling in return, feeling, somehow, that there was a light at the end of the long, dark tunnel. "Goodnight, Spencer."

"Night, Carlton."

\-----

It took him a week before he stood outside Shawn's apartment, knocking tentatively at too-late at night. He hadn't been able to sleep, tossing and turning restlessly. Wondering if he'd ever be able to open up again.

Had, in a moment of half-asleep clarity, realized that he already had. Shawn had seen him at his weakest and most vulnerable and had gone above and beyond in order to help him.

Shawn opened the door, blearily blinking. "Lassie? S'goin' on?"

"You said your door would be open." He held out his hands, watching as Shawn's eyes flicked over him, trying to get a read on his meaning. Before he could elaborate, Shawn's hands slid into his, and he was being pulled into his house. "Liar," he accused gently before closing the distance between them, kissing Shawn softly.

They ended up in Shawn's bed, lazily exploring with tongues and hands, soft noises accompanying the tangle of their limbs, the slow, rhythmic movement of their bodies. Clothing was pushed aside, kicked away, and Shawn's leg hooked around his hip, bringing their erections sliding against each other.

They rutted, kissed, touched until they came, entangled as they collapsed on the bed in each other's arms.

"This the part where I start bossing you around?" Shawn asked breathlessly.

Carlton clung tighter to the body next to him, not caring about the sticky, wet mess they'd created between them. "Later," he said sleepily. "Can talk about it later."

"Why not now?" Shawn teased, his facade ruined by a huge yawn.

"Because. I'm too comfy for you to tell me to go away."

A gentle kiss brushed his forehead, and Shawn's arms tightened around him. The reassurance that followed was so soft that Carlton almost missed it, "Oh, Carlton. I'd never do that." His eyes closed, and he fell asleep, his mind blissfully quiet. All doubts and fears, for now, silent.


End file.
